


Village

by Chimeraspeak, Hagar



Category: Tales of Arcadia (Cartoons)
Genre: 3Below Season 2, Audio Format: MP3, Audio Format: Streaming, F/M, Gen, POV Barbara Lake, POV Female Character, Podfic & Podficced Works, Podfic Available, Podfic Length: 1-1.5 Hours, Post-Season 3 (Trollhunters), Single POV, written before Wizards came out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:34:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25381669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chimeraspeak/pseuds/Chimeraspeak, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hagar/pseuds/Hagar
Summary: Barbara, after the third season. (AKA, during 3Below S2.)
Relationships: Barbara Lake & Detective Scott - Character, Barbara Lake & Jim Lake Jr., Barbara Lake/Walter Strickler | Stricklander, Toby Domzalski & Barbara Lake, Toby Domzalski/Darci Scott
Comments: 9
Kudos: 58
Collections: Pod_Together 2020





	Village

**Author's Note:**

> Hagar would like to thank veretianblue, who beta'ed.

* * *

  
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* * *

The house was unbearably empty. At first, Barbara was too busy to notice this. Though remarkably few people had been killed in the attack, many were injured. For four days, Barbara only came home to shower and order some takeout, which she ate without really tasting. On the fifth day she returned home in the morning, having spent yet another longer-than-intended shift at the hospital, and finally registered the state of the house: the floor that hadn’t been swept in over a week, the piling takeout boxes, the garage that hadn’t been cleaned since Merlin had worked there.

Then she sat by the dining table and cried for about an hour, because her baby was over six feet tall and part troll. Jim was no longer just her sweet, sweet son but a warrior and a leader and no longer just hers, and the house was unbearably empty.

And also, because Jim was no longer there, a total mess.

After that hour, Barbara got up, threw away the pile of used tissues, and called Walt. She was physically and emotionally wrung out, in no state to deal with the house on her own. Plus - Walt had stayed behind for _her._ He’d been as busy as she had, putting his lean, powerful body to work helping with rescuing people out of the wreckage, but after four days that effort was probably slowing down as well.

Walt sounded on the phone about as tired as she felt, but he came. Barbara dealt with the garage, while Walt dealt with the kitchen and downstairs floor - or so she thought. When she came out of the garage he wasn’t there. At first she had no idea where he could’ve gone to, but then she heard his footsteps from above. When she went upstairs, she found him just finished changing the sheets on her bed.

She was so tired that she burst in tears. Again.

For a second, Walt just looked at her. Then he came over and gently put both his hands on her shoulders, said “I’ll make us some tea” and went downstairs.

Her crying grew stronger, because that was just the right thing for Walt to have done. She couldn’t deal with much comfort, yet, and she was embarrassed with herself for crying. They didn’t have the chance to get too close before Walt had had to run away, all those months ago, but apparently he knew her well enough to know what would or wouldn’t help when she was this raw and off kilter.

She was just done washing her face when she remembered that Walt _was_ centuries old, and that that probably helped. It was a strange, vulnerable feeling to realize just how big the gap between them was, and yet - he came and helped and _understood_ , and maybe that was the part that mattered.

“Thank you,” she said when she came downstairs and found Walt in the now-spotless kitchen with - indeed - a pot of very sweet tea.

“Of course,” he said. Then he - too - seemed to not know how to continue. It made Barbara feel a tiny bit better.

“I miss him so much,” she said into the silence.

Walt looked at her for a moment, then said: “You’re grieving. It makes perfect sense, you know.”

 _Grieving_. It hadn’t occurred to her that that was the name for the furious sorrow in her chest. Of course she was grieving; at sixteen Jim was no longer a child but something had been robbed of him nonetheless, and that _something_ had robbed him from her as well. It did indeed make perfect sense, to grieve.

Somewhat to her surprise, her eyes didn’t grow moist again. She took a deep, shuddering breath and let it out slowly.

“At some point,” she said, “we’ll have to talk about the children.” The cradlestone was resting on the kitchen counter, where she’d put it five days before.

“Is this that time?” Walt asked. His voice was neutral: he wasn’t expressing a concern that this wasn’t the right time, yet, but rather genuinely asking.

“How many babies are in there?” she asked.

“631,” he replied after a moment’s hesitation, or perhaps a moment’s thought to locate the figure in his memory: she didn’t know him well enough to tell that sort of a nuance, yet.

She breathed out slowly again. “We can’t raise that many,” she said. “There isn’t an orphanage that can raise that many, either. We’ll have to spread them out, somehow.”

“We will,” Walt agreed after a moment. This time she was sure that the delay was because he thought her words over - and also because of whatever emotion it was that made his voice shake slightly as he said the word _we_. “We’ll need to figure out how to do that.”

“I know how to do that. I’ll need to call Ofelia. But,” she rubbed her eyes, “not right now.”

Walt’s expression turned thoughtful. “I know that you’ve been working long shifts, but - how have you been sleeping?”

“Little, and not well,” she admitted. She’d been haunted by red light, a distant roar and the sound of screaming whenever she’d closed her eyes.

He nodded as if that confirmed what he thought. “Go to sleep,” he told her. “I’ll be right here.”

His words made some sort of feeling expand in her chest. It pushed the grief out, just a little bit, enough that Barbara could stomach the thought of shower and bed. She stood up then spread her arms to the sides, a silent _Thank you_ instead of the words that stuck in her too-tight throat.

Walt eyed her for a moment then stood up and, very slowly, stepped close and put his arms around her waist.

She put her arms around him and for a moment, they held each other in silence. The touch lingered when they finally pulled apart; it occurred to Barbara that no one’d touched her in days, and that the same was probably true for Walt.

“Thanks for the tea,” she said, instead of what she couldn’t say just yet.

She was pretty sure he understood what she really meant because of the way his voice sounded when he replied: “Every time.”

* * *

Two days later, there was a knock on her door. Walt was in the kitchen, making dinner. Barbara had been sitting by the dining table, face in her hands, because the hospital hadn’t slowed down by much just yet and she was bone-deep tired. She couldn’t help the shiver down her spine as she walked over to the door: she’d been running on adrenaline for over a week, and anything unexpected her body interpreted as a threat.

It wasn’t a threat: it was Toby Domzalski.

“Hi, Dr. L,” he said, cheerfulness brittle.

She stepped aside to let him in.

“Ooh, that smells _nice_ ,” he said, wonderingly, then in a different tone of voice: “Hi, Professor Strickler.”

“Hello,” Walt replied, completely ignoring the note in Toby’s voice that said the boy hadn’t forgotten whatever had happened earlier in the War, before Walt had come down on their side. One day Walt and her would need to talk about that, but it was not yet that day.

“Join us for dinner?” Barbara offered.

“No, thank you, I just…” Toby began, then his stomach rumbled. He deflated. “Thanks, Dr. L.”

Nancy Domzalski was a very kind woman, but she was not entirely fit to be a parent. Jim had fed his best friend almost as often as he’d fed Barbara, but - she thought, eying the boy critically - Toby didn’t knock on her door just because he needed a square meal. Actually, that probably wasn’t the reason he’d come at _all._

She wasn’t the only one terribly missing Jim. She’d been so busy that she just hadn’t had the time to think beyond performing her job and the basic self-care of eating, sleeping and showering. As miserable as Toby looked, though, as different as his awkwardness as he helped her set the table was from Jim’s practiced grace, having him in her space eased some of the burden off her heart.

“Thank you for coming,” she told him quietly.

He looked up at her. For a moment she thought he was going to deflect or ignore her words, then he said: “We text all the time but it’s not the same and I miss him so much. I know you’re his _mom_ but he’s my best friend and--”

“And you’ve nothing to apologize for, Toby,” she cut him off, firmly but gently. “I mean what I just said.”

For a moment he just looked at her, searching out her face and posture - and wasn’t it strange, seeing this shrewd a look on a sixteen-years-old’s face - then said, voice quivering: “Thanks, Dr. L.”

They didn’t talk much over dinner. Part of it may have been because teenaged boys were never good at talking about their emotions, but part of it was definitely because Toby didn’t feel entirely comfortable around Walt.

One day they’d have to talk about it but for the time being, Barbara put it firmly out of her mind.

* * *

Ten days after the Battle, Barbara’s fragile equilibrium stabilized enough that she could call Ofelia Nuñez.

They exchange the requisite pleasantries before Barbara said: “We need your help.”

“What with?” Ofelia asked easily.

Barbara had expected that reply: Ofelia was the kind of a woman who’d take being asked to help as a compliment to herself and an opportunity to gain a favour.

“The cradlestone,” Barbara said.

“Is that the orange crystal that… _he_ gave you?” Ofelia asked, a little hesitantly. That she couldn’t say the name NotEnrique was using was probably a problem, but mercifully it wasn’t Barbara’s.

“Yes,” she replied. “It holds all the babies that have been taken. Over the centuries.”

There was a moment’s silence as Ofelia processed that sentence. Then she asked: “How many babies?”

Barbara leaned back against the chair. “631.”

There was another silence before Ofelia said: “Arcadia can’t take all of them.”

“I know,” Barbara acknowledged. “We need to arrange some sort of effort - some way to… _rehome_ all of them without drawing attention to Arcadia.”

“I understand,” Ofelia said. Her voice had gotten a little snippy at - Barbara surmised - having just been told the obvious, but it needed to be said and, anyway, that was but a moment and it passed as soon as Ofelia turned her mind to a problem that needed solving, and which she’d just been invited to solve. Her voice was brisk again as she asked: “How long do we have? How long can they stay in that stone?”

“Indefinitely. Probably. We don’t actually know.”

Ofelia was silent for another moment, but when she spoke it was with the rock-solid confidence that got her re-elected time and time again. “Give me a week.”

* * *

“So I have weird news and weirder news,” Toby said over dinner a little on day sixteen. “Or maybe it’s weirder news and weird news, I haven’t decided yet.”

“Does either of them involve magic?” Barbara asked.

“Magic, no,” Toby said, pulling the vowels somewhat.

Barbara put down her fork and braced herself for what was to come.

“No, it’s fine, Dr. L,” Toby said, “I’m pretty sure they don’t want to kill us.”

“Who doesn’t want to kill us?” Walt asked.

“The aliens,” Toby said. “Or, well, they prefer ‘Akiridians’. Apparently ‘aliens’ is rude.”

Barbara picked up her fork again.

“On the other hand, someone wants to kill _them_. Apparently there’s been some kind of a coup on their homeworld.”

Of course someone did. At least, Barbara thought, Toby dropped that before she put the bite in her mouth. She chewed, swallowed, then asked: “What’s the other news?”

“Darci wants me to tell her about… about the last year.”

That gave Barbara another pause, but for a different reason. Darci Scott was - best Barbara could tell from her limited exposure - a very sweet girl. That Darci wanted to know about what Toby had been through - and that she’d given things a chance to settle down first or possibly thought things through well - was an encouraging sign, as far as her relationship with Toby went. The question was whether she had the support system to deal with what the front-row view to a war looked like.

“The Scotts are, best I can tell, competently loving parents,” Walt said, replying to Barbara’s unvoiced thoughts.

“What does that have to do with anything?” Toby asked. There already was defensiveness in his voice.

“While it’s not going to be as difficult as having lived through it was, listening to what happened is going to be difficult in its own right,” Barbara said. Jim and Claire had started sharing bits and pieces of the story with her; Barbara’s understanding of this was neither theoretical, nor anchored only in her childhood memories. “If Darci is to be there for you, someone needs to be there for her.”

“Detective Scott _hates_ me,” Toby said immediately.

Barbara and Walt exchanged looks. Aaron Scott was - probably - being protective in the face of his daughter’s first serious boyfriend rather than genuinely hating Toby, but nevertheless-- Barbara looked at Toby, and said: “I have Aaron Scott’s cell. Would it be all right if I called him?”

It was a moment before Toby said, in a small voice: “So you think it’s a good idea.”

“The one thing worse than war,” Walt said, “is loneliness.”

The weight of the word settled in the room.

It was a moment before Toby said, still in that small voice: “Thanks, Dr. L.”

“You’re very welcome,” she told him. “And for the record? I think it’s good news, weird news.”

“Oh, so refugee aliens are good news?” Toby quipped.

Were he an adult, Barbara would’ve balled her napkin and tossed it at his head; but the gesture would come across quite differently from an adult towards someone the age of their child’s. Barbara wasn’t sure what sort of a reaction was communicated through her face and body but, whatever it was that Toby read on her, it made his shoulders relax. She’d take the win.

She also - within the next thirty minutes - made the decision to call Aaron that night, before Toby left her living room. The boy was too wary; Barbara knew hypervigilance when she saw it. The vote of confidence and trust in letting Toby hear the conversation could potentially go a long way.

Aaron answered after the third ring, with a cautious: “Hello?”

“Hello, Aaron? Hi, it’s Barbara Lake, Jim’s mom. I’m sorry about the hour,” Barbara said into the phone.

“Hi, Dr. Lake,” Aaron replied. His voice warmed up considerably, but the cautious note was still there as he said: “I think I can forgive you, so long as you’re not calling about another war.”

“Absolutely not,” Barbara promised him.

“In that case, what can I do for you?”

“Your daughter had what could potentially be a great idea, but I think she’s going to need some help in order for it to be a success.”

A wary note was _absolutely_ there as he said: “I’m listening.”

“She wants Toby to tell her about the past year.”

It was hard work to not fidget as silence lingered on the line. Eventually, though, Aaron said: “I just came very close to saying ‘Oh hell, no.’ That’s my baby girl, and that’s a _war_.”

“But?” Barbara prompted gently.

“But I saw those kids _that_ day and if I’m honest with myself, the boy deserves better than that. And if I wouldn’t be honest with myself, my wife would have something to say about that.”

Barbara bit down on the urge to say _Your wife sounds like a wise woman._ At this point in the conversation, it could only do harm.

“We’ll be there for her,” Aaron said. “For both of them.”

“Thanks, Aaron.”

“Thanks for raising a hero, Dr. Lake. I think you’ll understand what I mean by saying that must _suck_.”

His first words made her throat block, but then the latter sentence startled a laugh out of her. “Oh, absolutely. And please, it’s Barbara.”

“All right, Barbara. I suppose we’ll be in touch?”

“I’d love that. Thanks, Aaron. Good night.”

“So, what’d he say?” Toby asked as soon as she hung up.

“That he and…” Barbara hesitated.

“Tammi,” Walt supplied.

“That he and Tammi will be there for both of you,” Barbara completed her sentence, then counted three whole seconds before Toby said: “Didn’t see that one coming.”

“The detective cares a lot about protecting people,” Walt said.

“And that includes me, now?” Toby sounded unconvinced.

“You did a lot of protecting people,” Barbara pointed out gently. “He respects that, and that means he respects you.”

“Yeah,” Toby pulled the syllable, “ _that_ might be the weirdest news.”

* * *

Barbara didn’t get to wonder how that situation developed for the next three days, because Ofelia Nuñez called later that night to say that she’d recruited approximately 800 families willing to either ferry babies to any of the places on Barbara’s list of safe haven, or to foster babies slotted for the second and third waves of delivery until enough time had passed between the waves. She also recruited a matching army of babysitters (“Mary Wang is a very promising young leader,” Ofelia said on the matter of how she’d achieved _that_ ), because all of those families had babies of their own - which was, in all likelihood, how Ofelia had recruited _them_.

It was a good thing that things at the hospital were beginning to calm down.

No sooner had Barbara gotten her first good night’s sleep in about three weeks, though, than Toby called to explain that the fate of _someone’s_ world - and possibly Earth at well, he wasn’t particularly clear - depended on Barbara and Walt downloading and playing a strange little game called _Dogfight_. They both dutifully played the game until it stopped responding; Toby texted about half an hour later to say that the crisis was over, and to apologize for being late to notify them.

Barbara showed Walt the text; she had to hold the phone for him to read it off the screen - his arms were occupied with the younger of the two babies they’d decided to keep. “Tell me this isn’t our war,” she said.

He looked up at her, serious. “This isn’t our war,” he said. “We chose a different one, for now.” He looked back down at the drowsy baby, then put her gently back down in her crib.

Barbara sighed.

Jim had sounded scandalized over the phone when she’d told him about the babies. He’d said - and meant it - that he was only surprised she hadn’t tried to take in more, but the shock had been genuine. She’d explained it to him the same way she reasoned it to herself: “Kiddo, he’s spent several lifetimes loyal to a cause. That cause is gone now, and he can either find a new one to devote himself to, or go insane.”

“And you’re the new one,” Jim had said.

She couldn’t fault her son for the doubt in his voice; she’d already heard the story of what had truly happened that time she’d hosted Walt for dinner all the way back in November, and how that had nearly cost Jim’s and Claire’s lives - and that, Jim had added darkly, wasn’t the _only_ time Strickler had tried to kill him.

“You know it the same as I do,” she’d told him over the phone.

Jim’s breath had sounded over the phone, indication of a sigh, and he acknowledged: “Yeah, I do.”

Barbara’s recollection was disrupted by NotEnrique ambling back into the room; he’d taken a few days’ break from his self-appointed duty as Enrique’s - to whom NotEnrique affectionately referred as “my untwin” - sitter and companion to help his other ‘unsiblings’ settle in.

“All settled in,” he said in a cheerful whisper. “We good?”

 _Yes_ , Barbara was just about to tell him, but then the lights went out abruptly and completely. The drowsy-but-not-yet-asleep baby woke up, and that woke up her adopted older sister.

“Yup,” NotEnrique said over the sound of two wailing babies. “Guess not.”

* * *

She had a new routine to settle into at home, but the hospital was - mercifully - returning to its old routine. Barbara fully intended to make the most of it. Her life had had enough recent upheavals, she reasoned; it was better to keep things as constant as possible.

It didn’t happen that way.

“Barbara?” her ward chief asked her the next morning before rounds. “A minute?”

“Sure,” Barbara said, bemused.

“Nina Hernandez from HR called,” Dr. Nguyen said as soon as his office’s door closed behind them. “Congratulations.”

“For…”

“For your new daughters,” Nguyen said. “Were you going to mention them?”

Barbara stared at her boss. The truth was, the idea had completely slipped her mind. She’d remembered to buy everything two babies under one year old needed, but had forgotten to mention she was now a mother of three to-- anyone, she realized; Ofelia had said she’d handle the bureaucracy, and Barbara had put the whole thing out of her mind.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Nguyen said dryly in reply to her silence.

“Is this what you wanted to talk to me about?” she asked.

“In a manner of speaking. Hernandez wanted to know if you’re going to take PFL. I’m going to strongly suggest that you do.”

Paid Family Leave? “Tom…”

“You’ve been under immense stress lately. You performed above and beyond, and I understand why you don’t _want_ six weeks of vacation right now, but Barbara-- if it didn’t even occur to you to mention you have two new babies, you need a break _._ Take those six weeks and look after yourself, if you want to be there for those who depend on you.”

The small speech could’ve hurt. Even in her shock, Barbara could perceive how easy it would’ve been for the words to cut, but they didn’t. Nguyen spoke plainly, quietly. It seemed to Barbara that he didn’t worry so much that she might make a mistake and hurt a patient but rather, he knew: when Barbara ultimately would slip, the only person who’d get hurt was her.

But then, as he just laid out - and as she would’ve damn well remembered, if she wasn’t so overburdened - she wouldn’t be able to support anyone else, and that was something she couldn’t afford.

“You’re probably right,” she sighed. “I didn’t want to leave you short-handed, what with all this mess, and routine genuinely helps, but…”

“...but you need to process, and the worst is behind us now,” he completed. “Go home.”

“First I’ll go downstairs to handle the paperwork,” she corrected. “Then I’ll go home.”

She sorted out the paperwork, went home and was absolutely fine until after breakfast the next day. The shakes caught her as she was loading the dishwasher.

She was going to cut herself on a broken plate. Barbara made herself stop and move over to the dining table, pull herself a chair and sit down. She had no idea what was happening; she should, she knew that she should understand what was happening, but she couldn’t.

Walt came downstairs so soon after that she was certain he’d heard something was off, somehow. He looked at her, went away and returned a few moments later with a stack of paper and a pen, both of which he put down before her.

“Write,” he told her. “The Janus Order forbade its members from keeping journals for a long time, until eventually we realized no punishment would make people stop writing. So write. It’ll help.”

It did. For the next three days, Barbara was writing every minute that she was not taking care of the babies, talking to Jim, eating or sleeping. By the time the current started slowing down, she’d already accumulated a stack--not of loose-leaf paper, but rather of notebooks.

It seemed that she was writing a book.

On the fifth day, her phone rang.

“Hello?” she answered. She didn’t recognize the number.

“Barbara, hi, it’s Tammi Scott.”

“What happened?” Barbara asked. Tammi’s voice was superficially even, but Barbara knew forced calm when she heard it. Something was wrong.

“Something happened at Summer School today. I’m thin on the details for now, but it involved a military presence and they weren’t there to protect the kids.”

“That sounds foreboding,” Barbara said carefully.

“Aaron went to pick Darci up and returned with her and Toby.”

There was only one reason for Tammi to be calling her with this information. “How is he hurt?” Barbara asked.

“He started crying as soon as they got home and hasn’t stopped crying since. He’s crying hard enough he can’t speak. And he’s…”

“...shaking,” Barbara completed. “Big shakes.” She’d remembered, eventually, what she couldn’t recall during her meltdown. She knew what those shakes were typical of. It made sense that Toby’s trigger was related to the school.

“Yes,” Tammi agreed. She sounded relieved that Barbara knew what she was talking about. “I called his nana first but--”

“I’ll be right there,” Barbara promised her. “Give me your address.”

* * *

In the end, she had to threaten calling CPS. She had no idea if it would take, but she was not going to let Nancy withhold treatment from Toby - the old woman was well-meaning, but she had some old-fashioned ideas. She’d changed color when Barbara had said that, as if Barbara had slapped her. In a way, Barbara had. But it was obvious now that testimony alone was not going to be enough for Toby.

Then she had to convince Toby himself. That was a miserable negotiation - Toby was holding himself together by the skin of his teeth and Barbara had immense difficulty not being too hard with him - but they reached an agreement: he’d go to the doctor she’d call and take meds if prescribed, but they’d hold off on any kind of therapy until the meds had enough time to fully take. In eight weeks, they’d reassess.

Darci was the only person Toby let come with them to the clinic. “Dr. L?” she asked carefully after Toby went into the office, alone, and the door closed behind him.

“Yes?”

“Can I hug you?”

 _Oh, kiddo,_ Barbara thought, and spread her arms in reply.

* * *

“Okay, I’ll go find Merlin--”

“Jim--”

“He’ll know how to--”

“Jim--”

“--get me back to Arcadia the fastest.”

“ _Jim_.”

“Look, I know the trolls need me too but--”

“That’s not what I was going to say.”

“Then why are you Jim-ing me?”

“Because you coming back right now is not going to help Toby.” Barbara closed her eyes against the silence that followed on the line, and spoke to the darkness behind her eyelids. “Right now, Toby is terribly afraid that he’s broken. Anything that makes him feel like he’s getting special treatment is only going to reinforce that fear. If you come back right now, it’s not going to make him stronger; it’s just going to make him feel that the situation is even more severe.”

“He’s my best friend, Mom.”

“I know, kiddo. I know.”

The hardest part, it turned out, wasn’t making up her mind to pull out the CPS card with Nancy or managing Toby. The hardest part was the ten minutes she spent listening to her baby boy sobbing on the phone.

Barbara closed her eyes and let the tears stream freely. She only moved to pull another tissue from the box. She was pretty sure Jim didn’t even notice that she was crying, too.

* * *

Walt, bless him, didn’t try to comfort her. He hadn’t even left her a covered dish. Had he done that she might’ve had another meltdown - that was the sort of a thing Jim used to do for her. She couldn’t handle that that night, and Walt knew it.

She felt bad for shutting him out; it felt unfair. But the knowledge that he wouldn’t be able to help her through this was rock-solid, and she knew (even if the knowledge felt intellectual, in that moment) that emotions were not in themselves good or bad - they just were. Walt could manage it, she told herself, and hoped that she wasn’t wrong.

She wasn’t.

* * *

When three days later Aaron texted Barbara to tell her that Toby drafted Eli Pepperjack and Krel Tarron into producing a movie, Barbara let herself sigh in relief. Toby had been right about himself: he just needed the cushion that the Lexapro supplied to bounce right back up.

She didn’t shelve her search for a therapist who could handle both teenagers and veterans, though.

* * *

The first contact with Toby himself came two days after that. It was a brief text that read: _Tell Jim you love him._

Across the room, Walt raised his eyes from the notebook he was editing for her. At this point, Barbara had given up and accepted that until she _asked_ him what tells he was relying on, she wouldn’t know. For all she knew he could’ve heard her raised heartbeat, might’ve sensed the way her scent had to have changed what with the way her blood turned to ice and lungs to iron.

She handed him the phone and watched his expression freeze.

He handed the phone back to her and said, “By all means.”

The temptation to call Toby first - to call Toby at _all_ \- was great. However, Barbara was pretty sure that if Toby had sent her this text - and _just_ this text - then he wasn’t in a position to explain what was going on. Instead, she did as Toby suggested.

Jim, mercifully, replied with an easy “I love you too, Mom,” and suspected nothing.

Walt waited until she put the phone away before he said: “Barbara-- I love you.”

She should’ve expected that, but it hit her nevertheless. She forced herself to breathe in then breathe out, and replied truthfully: “I’m still working on that part.”

“Which is perfectly understandable.”

“If you keep being this reasonable, I’ll smack you.”

“Will it make you feel better?”

She had no idea if he was serious. Barbara put her face in her hands.

* * *

The next text was from Javier. It told them to put the local news on. If he hadn’t done that, they might’ve missed Ofelia’s statement.

By then, it was dusk. Toby’s text had come in around dawn. Barbara and Walt exchanged looks: the combination of Toby having known that early and having so little time and attention read a certain way, and that way was that _some_ effort was going on, and the boy was - again - in the middle of it.

“Think they’ll come through?” Barbara asked.

“If we come through this, it’ll be high time we met the Tarrons.”

If Barbara were to die that night, she’d die cuddling on the couch with Walt, the babies asleep over the both of them.

They didn’t die. Instead, Barbara texted Toby: _Thanks. And please also tell your friends._ She hesitated, then also sent: _And in case no-one else told you that, I’m proud of you. All of you._

Half an hour later her phone beeped. Barbara stared at the heart emoji. Even as she did a string of gibberish came in, and another one, then: _Plz ignore that, Dr. L, Aja stole my phone._

That explained the heart, then, and also confirmed that the Tarrons _were_ the Akiridians, which up until that point was only supposition: Toby had never identified them before. As for the gibberish, that had probably been sent by mistake during the fight that - no doubt - had occurred over the phone.

Barbara hesitated, then sent: _Tell her and her brother that they’re invited too, one of these nights._

 _A-OK_ , Toby replied, then, a moment later: _Thanks, Dr. L._

_For everything._

* * *

It spoke of what life in Arcadia had been like in the past couple of months that when a purple probably-an-alien materialized in Barbara’s living room and scared the older baby in the middle of a meal, Barbara didn’t even reach for her broom. Instead she recalled Toby saying something about the Tarrons having a dog; the probably-an-alien was roughly the right size and shape, and - Barbara tossed him a finger of carrot from her own plate - had the right behavioral patterns.

Before she could reach for her phone, though, the probably-an-Akiridian-dog disappeared in a cloud of stench.

Barbara sighed, and turned her attention to soothing her daughter.

* * *

That was Wednesday afternoon. On Thursday night, there was a very suspicious light show from a few blocks away, accompanied by even _more_ suspicious noises.

Toby _had_ said, all those weeks ago, that someone wanted the Tarrons dead.

“Sometimes,” she told Walt, “I hate that this is not our war.”

“I share the sentiment,” he replied. “Yet at the same time, I feel relieved.”

He sounded almost perplexed, so Barbara patted his knee and assured him: “You’re not crazy.”

The look he gave her was dry, but he squeezed her hand.

* * *

They wanted to go watch Toby’s movie at the drive-in. They did. They even managed to reserve a babysitter, despite seemingly every teen in Arcadia wanting to be there. Then, though, the younger of the two babies developed an ear infection.

Luckily.

They didn’t know yet that the fight had started at the drive-in, when the giant robots started marching down the streets accompanied by military trucks, with a PA announcing military law in Arcadia, and the Tarrons - wanted.

Then the giant showed up.

“When this is over,” Barbara told Walt, “we’re renovating the house.”

“I rather hope we won’t need to,” he replied.

Barbara gave him a Look for completely missing it, and said pointedly: “I was thinking of adding a bomb shelter.”

From a distance, they could see the giant - now driven to the bridge over the canal - shrug off an entire fleet as if they were gnats.

Walt sighed, and said: “I honestly don’t think that would suffice.”

* * *

When the phone call finally came, it wasn’t from a number that Barbara recognized. The voice on the other end was Darci’s.

“Dr. L? Hi, good morning, I’m sorry for waking you up--”

“Oh, I never went to sleep last night,” Barbara told her. “Are you okay?”

“I’m okay, Toby’s okay, honestly everyone’s okay - well, except Aja and Krel-- Okay when I said Toby’s okay, I meant he doesn’t need, like, to be at the hospital. But he hasn’t slept two nights in a row and he hasn’t eaten since yesterday and--”

“I got you,” Barbara told her. “It’s all right. Where are you?”

“By the planetarium, the Akiridans set up some sort of a command center here. Which my dad thinks he’s securing.” Darci’s tone said quite clearly what she thought about the helpfulness of that.

Barbara privately agreed, but she understood the need to feel meaningful. She’d been itching with it for hours, herself. “Just tell him to let me through the tape. I’ll be there in 30.”

“Thanks, Dr. L.”

The girl sounded overwhelmed by relief. Barbara smiled at the phone. “Don’t mention it, kiddo. I’ll be right there.” They said goodbye, and Barbara put the phone away. “Everyone but Aja and Krel are unharmed, but--” She paused and rubbed her forehead. “Can you cook teenager breakfast to go?”

“For how many?”

Barbara thought about that, and came up with: “Many.”

“I think I’ll manage.”

Fifteen minutes later, Barbara found out that at least one of Aaron and Darci had gone beyond what Barbara had asked: she and the bag of sandwiches she was ferrying got police transport when it turned out that her car couldn’t make it through the rubble.

Barbara had tried hard to not imagine what the scene might look like, when she arrived; she knew that there was no way she could imagine it right. Still, the first thing she met when she arrived at the plaza outside the planetarium was her own expectations: it was a much more jubilant scene than she - indeed - could’ve imagined. The many Akiridians milling about and working on the many tiny aircrafts that survived were clearly elated. The clear exception was two Akiridians, younger - or at least smaller - than the others, sitting off to the side. They were given a wide bubble of space by most others, but present inside that bubble were Toby, Darci, Eli Pepperjack and _Steve Palchuk_ of all people, as well as a man Barbara didn’t know. The two Akiridian teens seemed to be a male and a female; between that and their company, Barbara presumed these were the Tarron siblings in their native forms.

The scene was presided over by Aaron on the human side and a tall Akiridian probably-a-woman wearing Earth-style red knee-height boots. The Akiridian was in constant motion; Aaron was simultaneously talking into his radio, his phone and to three officers. It occurred to Barbara that another expectation she hadn’t realized she had was that Ofelia would already be present at the scene; Barbara rather suspected that _she_ did not get police transport.

Aaron waved her over.

“I don’t know who called you, but I could kiss them,” he said.

“Your daughter,” Barbara replied. She even managed a slight smile.

Even in the middle of this chaos, Aaron beamed. Then he sobered up. “As you probably already guessed, those are Aja and Krel over there. I don’t think you met…?”

She shook her head.

“Well, apparently they’re royalty. And as of tonight, the legal rulers of their planet.”

There was something in the tone of his voice. That, plus his choice of words… “As of tonight?” Barbara asked, as mildly as she could.

“Their parents sacrificed themselves tonight to stop that raging monstrosity. Which, by the way, was an evil god according to the Akiridians.”

“So _that’s_ what Darci meant. She said everyone was fine except them,” Barbara explained at Aaron’s frown.

He nodded. “And because that plus being right in the middle of this mess is not enough, the person I’m pretty sure is their guardian got critically injured. They seem quite fond of Lieutenant Zadra over there--” that was the Akiridian in the red boots “--but she’s the ranking officer and so has other problems.”

It was very clear what Aaron was asking her to do. “Aaron, I never even met them before.”

“Look, you’re a doctor. You talk to people in difficult situations all the time. Right now, you’re the best we have.”

Barbara could point out that _he_ talked to people in difficult situations all the time as well, but she understood: he had other duties and also, she was the one with the bedside manner. She heaved a sigh. “I’ll do my best. Also here, have a sandwich; Walt made plenty.”

“God bless the both of you.”

“And your daughter,” she reminded him, then started in the direction of the small group.

Darci was the first to notice Barbara approaching, probably because she was the only one paying any attention to their surroundings. She brightened up immediately. “Hi, Dr. L!” she called out, waving enthusiastically.

“Dr. L?” Toby looked around, looking almost alarmed. “What are you doing here? And not in scrubs?”

“Bringing you breakfast,” she told him. She put the duffel bag she was carrying on the floor. “Dig in, there’s enough for everyone.”

The other boys dove in immediately, but Toby hesitated. “Did you make them?”

“Walt did,” Barbara replied, resigned to the possibility that Toby might refuse the food because of that. Instead, though, he brightened up and joined the others.

Apparently, Walt was better trusted than her… on the matter of cooking.

“You must be Aja and Krel, right?” she turned to the two Akiridians, who were both still huddled; they hadn’t responded at all to her arrival, or to the now-very-present smell of food - and Barbara was sure they hadn’t eaten for at least as long as Toby had.

“Oh, they can eat anything,” Palchuk replied through a mouthful of pastrami, having - apparently - intuited what she was hesitating over. “Even-- what’s it’s called--”

“Diablo Maximus Breakfast Burrito,” Toby and the unknown man chorused. The man must’ve noticed Barbara’s look, because he smiled and offered his hand. “Hello, I’m Stewart. I’m a friend of those two.”

Barbara shook his hand automatically. She had no idea who he was still, but the kids could probably use every friend they had.

She hesitated, then sat down on the floor in front of Aja and Krel. She didn’t try to offer them food; that wasn’t going to help.

Darci sat down next to her. “Dr. L is Jim’s mom,” she told the siblings. “I know you know Jim. I also know that Aja once asked Toby why Jim was blue last you saw him and where he’d gone to, and Toby left the room and never explained. Well, the short version is that war...” She looked at Barbara, hesitated, then squared her shoulders and looked at the siblings again. “War fucking _sucks._ And I think the person here who knows it best other than you two is Dr. L.”

Darci Scott was an absolutely _stunning_ young woman. Barbara’s eyes were filled with tears.

“Is Jim dead?” Krel asked.

“No, he isn’t,” Barbara answered. “But he can never go back.”

“Was it worth it?” Aja asked. She almost, but not quite, looked at Barbara.

Barbara closed her eyes. She couldn’t bring herself to speak out the answer to that question. Odds were that without Jim, without the consequences that he’d accepted, none of them would be there. In that regard, it was absolutely worth it. But she was his mom.

She ended up saying it like that.

“They were our parents,” Aja said. “They…” and she burst out crying.

Darci put a comforting arm around her shoulders, and looked pointedly at Palchuk - who seemed rather poleaxed but, after a moment, sat down next to Aja and said “C’mere.”

Aja threw herself into his arms; her crying intensified. Steve hugged her and kissed her hair.

Huh, Barbara thought. That explained his presence.

Krel was still curled up in a ball and not looking at anyone.

Akiridian or not, what Barbara saw was a teenaged boy in deep distress. She ached to be able to hold him, but she knew she couldn’t, that it would only do harm.

“It should’ve been us,” he said.

Barbara took off her glasses; her tears spilled over and she knew she was about to cry _far_ too hard to do so in glasses. “I never met your parents,” she said through her choked throat, “but I know they were good parents and good _people_ , because they raised _you_. And I’m telling you this as a parent: no parent-- no parent, no person who is _good_ , would let that happen to their children. Even if it was the right thing by any other consideration.”

“That doesn’t help,” Krel told her flatly.

“I know it doesn’t, kiddo. I know.” It might, one day, if he had children of his own, but that was a hypothetical and - hopefully - far in the future. “They were your parents.”

“Here, Dr. Lake.” Eli pushed a roll of toilet paper into her hand. She had no idea where he’d gotten it from, but she was grateful; her nose was running.

“Is that normal?” Krel asked.

“Oh, yes, absolutely,” Toby replied.

It took her a moment to realize they were talking about her running nose. The realization made her cry harder, because apparently Krel Tarron was the kind of a person to be moved by someone else’s distress when he was deeply grieving himself, and that was an even stronger indication that the Tarron parents had to have been amazing people.

“I’m sorry,” she said, attempting to wipe her eyes with the back of her hand, “I know it’s-- selfish of me, right now, but I wish I could hug you.”

Krel didn’t reply. His body language didn’t change, so Barbara was cautiously hopeful that she hadn’t destroyed the fragile rapport.

Then Krel surprised her completely by uncurling and reaching out for her.

She wrapped him up without a second thought.

* * *

She slept for half the day after that. The second half of the day, she mostly spent feeling guilty: that she’d left Walt alone with the babies, that she wasn’t at the hospital. That she couldn’t even successfully make herself dinner.

Walt just gave her a look that showed, quite clearly, that he’d spent several decades - if not longer - being a teacher, and asked: “And who could’ve done what you did? We’re in this together, Barbara,” he continued after a minute pause.

The answer to the question he’d just asked hurt too much, so instead, she said: “You’re allowed to call me Barb, you know. Just please,” she added, straining to put humor into her voice, “not ‘Barbie’.”

She surprised him with that; it showed in that it took him a moment to reply with “I’ll endeavor to keep that in mind,” though he _did_ manage to say that with a straight face.

The question stayed with her, though: _And who could’ve done what you did?_ It was, she thought - several hours later, laying awake in bed - one of the worst feelings possible: to know that there was something in this world that depended entirely on you. She was a doctor; she thrived on being needed. But as a doctor she was part of a system, and there was always someone there who could pick up where she left off. That morning, though - Aaron and Walt were both right: there was no one else who could’ve done what she had, and what she’d done was absolutely necessary.

She wondered if that was how Jim felt, all the time.

“Barb?” Walt asked quietly.

For a moment she closed her eyes, then opened them again and turned around to face him. “You know the saying, it takes a village to raise a child?”

“I do,” he replied cautiously.

“I think the truth is, it takes a village to hold up any one of us.”

Walt pulled his arm out from under the sheets so he could lace their fingers together, his right hand and her left one. “I think you’re absolutely right.”

* * *

This time it took only a few days to clean up the mess: the Akiridians had sent a massive help effort, a token of gratitude for the help Arcadia had unknowingly provided them with the past few months. Barbara had called the hospital, too, just to make sure, but was indeed answered that they were holding up and she could continue with her time off.

The re-premiere of Toby’s movie, as well as an official address from the Tarrons, were scheduled for precisely one week after the original premiere date. Two days before then, Toby and Krel knocked on Barbara and Walt’s door.

“Hi, Dr. L!” Toby said cheerfully as he marched in; Krel - in his human form - was behind him, ferrying a number of big boxes on a hoverboard. “We have a surprise for you!”

“You mean I have a surprise,” Krel corrected. He didn’t sound peeved, though.

“Technically,” Toby said, drawing out the syllables, “Claire’s parents paid for the military-grade GPS unit.”

“Dare I ask what the surprise is?” Barbara asked. Walt was out on a grocery run; she was debating with herself the wisdom of calling him back home.

“You’re going to _love_ it,” Toby promised.

Krel busied himself with the boxes, which - it turned out - contained parts of some sort of a machine. “Where should I…?” he began to ask.

“Over here,” Toby said, pointing to a point to the right of the front door. “I think that would be good.”

“I’m sorry, I have to ask - _what_ are you building in my living room?”

Krel turned his head around to look at her and grinned, a sudden expression which lit up both his face and his voice. “Toby’s right; you’ll love it.”

Resigned to being genuinely surprised by whatever it was the boys had planned, Barbara asked: “Would you like something to drink?”

“Thanks, Dr. L.”

“Absolutely.”

It didn’t take long to put the machine together, partially because a few minutes into the process Krel muttered something that was, most distinctly, not in English, then transformed back to his native form. Watching him work, Barbara got the impression that it wasn’t just that four hands were quicker than two - it was that Krel still wasn’t used to working with only two hands.

A loud flapping sound indicated Walt’s arrival; he’d opted to not take the car - his troll form was just too tall to comfortably drive. A moment later he stepped in, looked at Krel - who didn’t even lift his head from his work - then at the grinning Toby sitting on the couch, then finally, questioningly, at Barbara.

“Apparently, it’s a surprise,” she told him.

He frowned, but - after only a brief hesitation - headed to the kitchen to unpack the groceries.

The mystery machine was shaped as an elongated oval - around six feet tall - mounted on top of a base unit. Krel was putting the finishing touches to the base unit when Barbara suddenly realized what the machine _was._

“The GPS unit,” she asked, slowly, “is it here?”

“Nope,” Toby said, smacking his lips around the plosive.

Barbara covered her mouth with her hands. “Oh my god.”

“Barbara?” Walt questioned, quickly coming out of the kitchen.

“It’s a-- a--” She didn’t know the device’s name, but she knew what it _was._ “The ships came through one of these.”

Walt’s eyes widened as he understood.

“It’s a wormhole generator,” Krel said. He pushed himself up from the floor; apparently he’d finished the assembly. “Locked to the signal from a particular GPS unit.”

“You said Claire’s parents _paid_ for the GPS unit, but…”

“But it’s Claire who has it,” Toby confirmed. “Jimbo is about to get the surprise of a _lifetime_.”

Barbara’s heart was beating like a jackhammer, but she had the presence of mind to ask: “Does Blinky know?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Toby promised.

Walt, meanwhile, had closed all the blinds.

“It’s very easy to operate,” Krel promised her. “Let me show you how. Toby?”

“Texting Claire as we speak.”

Walt was looking over her shoulder as Krel explained how to fire the generator up. That was a good thing; Barbara doubted she’d remember anything.

The wormhole engaged.

Claire’s leg showed up first, then the rest of her. She was holding Jim’s hand in hers. Jim stepped out last, dressed - in Trollish fashion - in trouser shorts only, and promptly froze in shock.

Barbara cried out, an inarticulate sound, and threw herself forward to hug him.

He caught her and clutched her close. Now that he wasn’t wearing the armor he didn’t smell of metal; he smelled faintly of dust, which was her experience with all trolls, but - miraculously - he also smelled like _Jim_ , like her son whom she’d raised for sixteen years. She’d known that the smell of metal bothered her, but she hadn’t realized how _much_ until it was gone.

It’d only been a little more than a month since she’d last seen Jim, but what a month it had been. It was a long few moments before they broke apart from the hug - but still held on to each other.

Her eyes were wet, but she could contain herself, for now.

“How is this possible?” he asked.

“Toby made a few friends,” Claire replied, amused.

Jim looked around, saw Krel still in his native form, then snapped his head back to look at Toby - who’d come out of the living room to join them and said, “Yeah, turns out Krel and Aja really _are_ out of this world.”

Jim turned his head around again. “Krel?”

“Don’t sound so surprised.”

“Yeah, I don’t know why anything still surprises me.”

“May all surprises be this pleasant,” Walt said. “Hello, young Atlas.”

“Are you _ever_ going to stop calling me that?”

“Perhaps in a few centuries.”

“Hey, I also insist on a hug,” Toby said. “Or am I no longer…”

“You’ll _always_ be my best friend,” Jim said firmly. He got down on his knees - he was almost twice as tall as Toby.

“It’s been a really long month, man,” Toby said when the boys finally broke apart.

His voice was shaking.

Walt began moving.

Toby waved at him to stop. “It’s all right, I packed my own,” he said, and produced a travel pack of tissues from his back pocket. “Never leave home without them.”

“Tobes, I’m so, so--”

“Jim,” Toby cut him off, having already dabbed his eyes. “What did I tell you I was going to do if you ever tried to apologize again?”

“Hit me with your warhammer.”

“Do you _want_ to get hit with my warhammer?”

Claire hid her face in her hands and stifled a giggle.

“I’m pretty sure I can take it.”

Toby looked at him exasperatedly, then said: “Claire? Your boyfriend is being an idiot again.”

“He was _your_ best friend first,” Claire replied.

“Thanks, guys,” Jim said wryly. “It sure feels good to be loved.”

The exchange sounded as if they’d had it a hundred times. For all Barbara knew, they had. It eased her heart, a little bit.

Then something occurred to her. “Wait. Claire--”

“Yeah, my parents don’t know yet,” she replied with a grin. “I love my mom, but I wanted you guys to have your moment _without_ her making everything about her. And demanding to know why _she_ doesn’t get a wormhole generator.”

That… sounded exactly like Ofelia. Barbara had to concede the point, even if leaving Claire’s words uncommented upon felt like a betrayal of the other mother.

“Thank you,” she told Krel.

“You’re very welcome,” he told her. “I didn’t want…” he paused, took a deep breath, then continued, in a different voice: “Everyone should get to go home.”

 _They’d be so proud of you,_ Barbara thought, but didn’t say so out loud. There was a thread, now, connecting Krel and her - obviously evidenced by the wormhole generator right next to her front door - but it was fragile and new.

“Yeah, I’m going to thank you anyway,” Jim said. He pushed himself up from the floor and turned around to face Krel. “So thank you.”

The snap of a window saved Barbara from needing to come up with a diversion. When they all turned around, NotEnrique was there.

“I see I’m late to the party,” he remarked. “How’re ya doing, Sis?”

Claire replied by opening up her arms. “Right now? Excellent.”

He hopped across the floor and up at her. “I could say the same thing.”

“What did you tell the parents?”

He made a face. “Honestly? As much as I love my untwin, I’m thinking about going back with you guys. Particularly now that I can go back for visits if I wanna. Krel here wins at gifts for _life._ ”

Walt startled. Barbara understood why: he must’ve just realized that he and Zelda could see each other. The two had been friends for centuries - Barbara could only imagine the depth of that bond.

They needed to switch the focus off Krel, though. Barbara decided that was an excellent excuse to hug her son again.

“Do you want to meet your sisters?” she asked when they parted.

His face lit up.

They ended up ordering pizza for dinner for everyone but the trolls and the babies. Walt and Barbara both had to make supply runs: he for raw meat, and she for folding chairs as they ended up a party of 17 - the wormhole had been fired up again to fetch Zelda (Blinky had had to decline, on account of his duties to his community), Claire had Barbara call her parents to invite them over, Toby wanted to share the occasion with Darci which meant _her_ parents tagged along, and then even Aja and Steve decided the party sounded more interesting than their date plans, at which point Krel called Stewart. Someone named Varvatos was still recuperating.

“I think,” Walt told her quietly hours later, looking at the party that had spilled out to the yard and was still going strong, “that we have our village.”

She leaned into him. “I think we do.”


End file.
